


Kidnapped

by CastielsCarma



Series: Supernatural Stay at home [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, King Castiel, M/M, Thief Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean Winchester, notorious and famous thief has a rumor to uphold. That's why he finds himself on a mission to sneak inside the castle Oakspear and pay a visit to the king.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural Stay at home [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699483
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	Kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

> Part 10 of SpnStayAtHome challenge from Tumblr.
> 
> Today's prompt could be any of our choosing so I decided on 'Kidnapped' which in turn was based on this prompt from a Facebook group. 
> 
> https://www.facebook.com/groups/115057981983004/permalink/1611948145627306/
> 
> This is the last prompt for the SpnStayAtHome challenge. I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has followed me along on this little journey. Thank you <3 And a huge thank you to the mods who put together this challenge!
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome. I hope you enjoy! =) Comments are always appreciated.

The day was slowly turning into night but it was not yet pitch black, more of a deep dark gray. It suited Dean Winchester just fine. The day had been hot and he welcomed the chill air that caressed his cheek.

He could see the lanterns being lit, vibrant bright beacons that surrounded the castle of OakSpear. He always thought it was a stupid name. The last oak had been cut down centuries ago when the kingdom needed them to build ships to fight a neighboring kingdom and the now ruling family had renamed the castle Oakspear in remembrance. 

Oakspear. He'd like to see someone come at him with a damn oak spear. He'd use his blade and cut the spear into toothpicks. Dean turned serious. This was just a quick in and out – an unbidden smile came to him then – and no one was supposed to get hurt. Not a lot at least. If he saw Crowley, Master of the Royal King's Guard though, he'd happily make an exception.

Dean was up to the castle wall. Stones that were huge and smooth to the touch, seemingly impenetrable greeted him. They were silent and guarded their secrets. Luckily for Dean, he knew of living creatures, with soft flesh and hot blood who didn't keep their knowledge hidden.

Being the most revered or feared person (depending on who you asked) in the kingdom, came with certain responsibilities and Dean “The Michael Sword” Winchester was not one to disappoint.

When he came to the Oakfork – a small mound of rocks among some bushes – he turned right and counted twenty steps, carefully. Each step was heel against toe until he stopped, facing the castle walls again. To the untrained eye, this expanse of smooth stone looked the same as any other but Dean knew that looks could be deceiving. Standing on his toes, he pressed on a point and a section of the stone wall slowly opened up.

Again he smiled to himself, memories stirring his blood to life. He needed to stop and focus on the task at hand.

Kings and their fear of being kidnapped or attacked. Stupid. Dean walked inside and pressed a point on more coarse rock. The hidden door closed.

Dean knew the way and how the underground tunnel twisted and turned by heart. His night vision was still preserved so he ran. Soon, he came to the exit.

It was nighttime and the chamber pots weren't really needed to the same extent, but Dean nonetheless pressed his ear to the door. To be careful was a wise choice. Castles never slept. He shut down the voice that insisted that what he was about to do wasn't wise.

He couldn't hear anything.

Slowly, he pushed the door open – this one so small that he had to bend himself in half – and stepped outside.

Ahh, the castle of Oakspear. Even the chamber pots were pristine.

Dean carefully took a step over some pots laying in a stacked pile on the floor and opened that door too. The storage for the chamber pots was at the far end from where the royal rooms where.

Dean sneaked out on soft leather boots and entered a hallway. Here and there lanterns glowed, the light shining on the stone walls but no guards were there. Not that Dean had expected any. Chamber pots were not treasured by the king.

As he walked further into the heart of the castle, it slowly came to life. He could hear the soft murmurs of servants going about their business even at these hours. He clutched his side, where his knife was hidden. The Michael Sword he'd decided to leave behind, but if anyone thought that he'd be less dangerous with a knife, they were fools.

Enough with the tiptoeing. Time to spring the plan into action. Not that Dean really had a plan. He had a semblance of things he knew about Oakspear, guard routines, where most of the exits were. Where the royal jewelry was stashed. He banished all the images that suddenly flooded his mind.

Maybe he should have stopped at the second ale, but the third was blessed the saying went.

Boots on stone alerted him to a group of guards close by, and by the sound of it they were coming his way. Dean's heart sped up. It wasn't fear, just exhilaration that called his body into action. There was a door further ahead, but he wasn't sure where it would lead. If someone was behind it, they were most likely sleeping but if not, their screams would alert the guards.

Dean looked up and saw a wooden support beam. He squinted. It was possible. Sure, he had some alcohol in his blood but his reflexes were legendary. Villagers still talked about him and that cock. The bird kind.

Taking a step back, Dean ran as fast as he could and took a leg to the wall, pressing himself upwards. Be a cock. Fly! He remembered that cocks didn't really fly but his fingers gripped tightly around wood anyway. He hoisted himself up and perched from his position, looking at the guards that walked right beneath him.

The lanterns chased some of the darkness away but not often did people think to look up. Dean pressed himself to the roof and watched as the guards walked past him none the wiser. He counted to five and jumped down again.

Two turns later and barely avoiding a stray guard running – probably to take a piss – Dean was almost to the royal sleeping quarters. He turned a corner and ran straight into Crowley.

Crowley's eyes widened briefly but Dean was faster. He tightened his fist and planted it squarely on that pompous face of Crowley.

Crowley covered his face for a split second, before looking at Dean with hatred in his eyes. “I know you! You won't escape, Dean Winchester!” Crowley swung at him.

Dean ducked with ease. “I'm surprised you do. The picture on the wanted posters doesn't look anything like me. But nothing could do this pretty face justice. But no need for the 'Winchester', I thought you and me were closer than that. Remember that night in Edmond – “

Crowley screamed and lunged at him.

Apparently Crowley didn't want to remember.

Dean grimaced as his head hit the ground, the thud reverberating through his teeth but was soon accompanied by a sickening crack.

“You'll rot in a dungeon.” Crowley threw away the candelabra and grabbed Dean by his tunic.

Blood ran down into Dean's left eye, obscuring his vision. He could feel the pointy end of a blade pressing into his back.

“If you just let me grab my sword again, we can cross them.”

“I swear by all that's holy, if you don't shut your mouth right now, I'll gut you.”

That was the thing with Kingsguards. They got fat and complacent. Much like the house cats who were content to drink milk and take whatever scraps their masters gave them, ultimately forgetting that they had claws.

Crowley pushed Dean forward, his sword at the ready.

Dean grunted, but didn't turn around to punch him as he wanted to. Instead, he walked slowly, hunched. The model prisoner. When he saw that Crowley was ushering him along to _that_ room, he bent his head down, a smile on his lips.

Crowley knocked once, and pushed Dean inside the dark wooden doors, inlaid with marble and gems. Dean contemplated stealing the door, or at least the handle which was solid gold just to piss off the king but decided against it.

The king was sleeping but stirred in his bed. So did one of his loyal soldiers who was leaning against the wall, one that Dean knew the face of very well. Hannah.

Great.

Hannah's eyes widened momentarily before he pulled his sword and the king followed suit.

“This piece of vermin was skulking around in the castle, your Highness. Permission to take his life right now?” Crowley pushed Dean against a wall. “Where's your Michael Sword now, you scoundrel?”

Dean barely focused on Crowley; his eyes were on the Royal Highness, Castiel Angelus, Oakspear's pride and joy, the most exalted One. He probably had more names that were too ridiculous to remember. Dean would have to ask him.

The king of course drew his sword.

Hannah looked at the king and followed suit, standing next to him.

Castiel's eyes were narrowed, shining brightly with anger. He pointed the sword under Dean's chin, forcing his eyes up.

Dean couldn't help it, he licked his lips and smiled lasciviously. “A game is it?” He winked once and saw Hannah blink in confusion.

Slowly, Dean kneeled in front of Castiel, lowering his hands to his sides. He wanted to bend his neck too, but sadly the sharp tip on his throat – that had followed him down as his knees sank to the floor – prevented such wishes. He could still blink with his left eye but the blood caused it to burn. It was just a mild discomfort though. A zit on his ass was worse.

Crowley's raspy voice was laced with confusion. “Your Highness?”

Castiel shook his head. “Stand down, Crowley. We need to gather information. If this is indeed Dean Winchester – “

“I told you that picture of me sucked, Crowle – “

Crowley kicked him in the stomach with a heavy foot.

Dean bent down slightly, air leaving his lungs. The sword grazed his throat but it was just a caress, a pleasurable, painful zing.

“Crowley, I told you to stand down!”

Coughing, Dean gazed up to look at Castiel. Wasn't this a sight? His blood stirred again but Dean fixed his gaze on those eyes. A witch must have truly cursed Castiel as a child. There was no other way for any human to gain that color.

Dean ignored the hideous nightgown Castiel was wearing. It was a silky affair with golden wings embroidered all over. Why would one want to cover one's body with that monstrosity when you could sleep in the nude? He shook his head in dismay.

“What are you doing here... _thief!”_

Dean licked his lips. “Love when you talk dirty to me... your Highness.” He glanced over at Crowley who was fuming; his hand still gripped the hilt tightly. “Just taking a stroll. Do you mind?” He raised his hand and touched the blade, arching a brow.

Slowly Castiel lowered his sword.

“Your Highness, I wouldn't do that if I were you. He's the kingdom's most wanted – “

Dean ducked down and rolled away from the sword. He threw himself at Crowley's feet and pulled them toward himself, and as Crowley fell, he planted a fist straight in his smug face. “This is a different kiss than you'd like from me but I'm sure you won't mind.” The crunch as Crowley's nose broke and blood squirted was very satisfying. He rapidly punched him three more times, using all his force.

Blood splattered on his face, but Dean had already been bloodied. Some more didn't really make much more difference.

Crowley raised his head feebly before dropping it to the floor, passing out.

Dean cracked his knuckles. “That was for the fucking awful drawings of me.” He looked at Castiel, as he wiped the blood away from his face. “No wonder your soldiers never catch me.”

“Dean, have you lost your cursed mind? How am I going to explain this to Crowley when he wakes up?” Castiel glanced at his Master Kingsguard. “If he wakes up.”

“He'll wake.” Dean shook his head. “You need to train your guards better, Cas. What if some crazed killer is out to catch you?” He almost spat in disgust. “It'll be child's play.”

“It's Castiel.”

Dean nodded, a smile on his face. “Of course.” He put a fist to his chest and bowed. “Your Big Headedness. I know this isn't your favored version of crossing swords. I apologize.”

Hannah's eyes bulged at the insult and he took a step forward but Castiel waved at him to stop.

Anger made Castiel's eyes glow. He grabbed Dean and hauled him up. “If they catch you, they'll kill you!”

Dean licked some of the blood from his fingers. “Are you gonna turn me in?” The ensuing fight had upset his stomach, and Dean let out a burp.

“Are you intoxicated?!”

Dean scoffed. “I've had three or so ale. Hardly intoxicated, Cas. But I'm here on a mission.” He glanced over at Hannah, who was still aiming his sword at Dean, although he looked like he was thinking of dropping it.

“What kind of mission could you be on?” Castiel wondered out loud.

“The mission to preserve my reputation.” He kept silent about the second part of his mission.

Castiel stepped away from Crowley and put away his sword before he went over to a dresser. “I think that's a lost cause, you preserving your reputation.” He draped a blue silk robe, embroidered with fish of all things over his nightgown, and tied it off with a sash.

Dean got up on two feet and walked up to Castiel. He noted that Hannah followed his every move. “Relax, Hannah.”

“Your Highness... should I alert someone?”

Castiel shook his head. “It's fine. Just proceed with protocol as usual, Hannah.”

Dean smirked. “You heard him, handsome. Proceed as usual.”

Hannah frowned but dropped his sword and finally sheathed it. He relaxed his posture but Dean could still feel his eyes on him.

He turned and walked over to Hannah. “You've done good, kid.” He patted Hannah on the back.

“I'm hardly a kid – “

“Enough!” Castiel's voice cut through the air. “It's not even – _Dean_. Why are you here, in the middle of the night – ?”

Dean lowered his voice. “Is that any more different than the other times I've been here? You never complained then. On the contrary, you wanted more and more and – “

Hannah cleared his throat.

Dean rolled his eyes. “For being the lookout, you don't get to play a prude now, Hannah.”

“ _Dean_.”

Dean could hear Castiel's patience was wearing thin. He was always so... demanding. Dean liked it. “You always wanted adventure right? Bored of court politics? A way to escape from Crowley and Naomi? Well, I'm giving it to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hannah looked as puzzled.

Dean admired loyalty to a point. Hannah was loyal, clever, and sure, he followed orders but he had been known to question some of Cas' decisions now and then. The confidence to defy the king came not from pride or avarice but from years of friendship and camaraderie, love even. And Hannah's face was not ugly, so that was another reason for admiration.

“Cas, Hannah is pretty, I'll give you that. But wouldn't you say a scar... would make his already pretty face more appealing?” The corners of his mouth turned into a smirk.

Dean jumped on Hannah, and hit him square in the face. Hannah hit the floor like a drunkard on midsummer's Eve.

Castiel whirled around, his robe fanning out behind him dramatically.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

Dean pulled his knife and yanked Castiel close to him, the sharp edge of the knife pointing at that vital blood vessel near the throat. “We need to take a stroll, you and me, Cas.”

Betrayal flashed over Castiel's face and he set his mouth into a grim line. “I thought we had something. That we were something.”

An ache bloomed in Dean's chest but he shoved it down. “We do, Cas, we do. All those things I said to you... they're still true. I'm just borrowing you for a while.”

“Against my will!” Castiel hissed. “That's not borrowing. That's kidnapping!”

Dean pulled Castiel's body to his and if circumstances were different it could have been exciting. “I'll give you back. We'll come back.” He waited until the guards had made their next round passing the royal chambers before urging Castiel along. “Let's go.”

The corridor was now empty and Dean pushed at Castiel, urging him to hurry. “I don't know what's with the face and narrowed eyes. I thought you hated the pompous royal court and all the trivial matters you have to attend. Didn't you talk about adventures and going out to see the world?”

“Dean, if any of my guards find you, you'll be executed on the spot. I'd be powerless to stop you.”

“Cas, it's almost like we're more than lovers. I'm flattered.”

“Drop the charade, Dean. I've known you for a long time. I care about you. Gods, I love you. I know you haven't told me you love me back but all those evenings and nights we've spent together... I know they must have meant something to you. Don't lie to me. Not more than you have tonight.”

Dean swallowed. Damn, Cas and his honeyed tongue. He almost relented when he remembered the very reason he was doing this. He hardened his voice. “You're a good lay. That is all.”

Castiel's face turned blank and he didn't say anything else.

The rest of the walk to the storage with the chamber pots was uneventful. Dean felt the heavy silence build with each step until it was crushing him. “Bend down so you don't hit your head, Cas.”

“We wouldn't want that now, would we? What would you do if I fought you?”

Dean sighed. “You are royalty, and while I don't doubt your strength, Cas, the Michael Sword has no reason to hold back if you start trouble. The rumors about me are all true.” He shrugged. “Well, most of them anyway, some are pure fabrication, but do you really wanna take that chance?”

“If you have troubles with a gang of thugs or ruffians, I can help. My coffins are endless.”

Dean smiled in the darkness as they walked to the edge of the castle walls. Just a few more steps and then freedom awaited. For one of them. “It's not about gold, Cas.”

“You almost sound offended.”

“I don't fuck you for money, Cas.”

Castiel scoffed. “I didn't suggest that either. But if you – if there's some debt to be paid, I could do that. I could help you.”

“We are just going to be gone a while and then I'll bring you back. I don't need your help.”

The darkness finally covered the landscape and while it would be to their advantage, Crowley and Hannah could wake at any moment. Dean pulled out his sword and hid the knife away.

Castiel sighed but didn't say anything; he just followed along as Dean guided him with a hand on his shoulder. They would soon come to a small clearing where he hid two horses and then they'd leave Oakspear.

After a few minutes of walking, Dean pulled Castiel to a stop. “Do you have to step on every fucking branch and twig from here to Lawreen?”

“I've been kidnapped. It's in my interest to be found and leave traces behind me.”

Dean smiled in the darkness. “You give Crowley and his gang of cretins too much credit. But good thinking.”

“But you'll still knock me out if I try to run.”

“Don't run, Cas. I swear, I will not hurt you and I will return you when we're done.”

Castiel was silent for a while, walking where Dean's sword led them. The silence lay heavy over them and Dean should've been grateful. He was borrowing the king of Oakspear after all and he wanted as little disturbance as possible. But the _other_ silence was oppressive, the one that spoke of betrayal and hurt and it pressed heavily on him.

Usually, Dean wouldn't be bothered, but this was Cas.

He could see the shadowy outline of the horses. He'd tied them around a cluster of birch trees. The trees dotted the area, providing some shade on hot summer days, but they were no oaks.

The horses – one black, the other one a soft beige – whinnied when Dean approached them.

He stroked the black horse gently, reassuring her. “We'll be on our way soon, Tantrum. Venison will rest.”

Castiel finally spoke up, disbelief in his voice.“You named your horses Tantrum and Venison?”

Dean shrugged. “Tantrum was feisty when I got her and Venison... A poacher stole my venison so I stole his horse.”

Cas huffed in disbelief. “You don't have venison, because you don't own any forests, Dean.”

“I was in _a_ forest. And might be that I was hunting for venison when this man came and claimed what was mine. Get up. And no sudden movements, she'll bite you.”

“So you were poaching yourself and got mad that another poacher stole “your venison”.

Dean pushed at Castiel's ass, urging him forward. His other hand gripped Tantrum's reins tightly. “Come on, stop with this molasses-slow pace. Crowley will be able to catch up.”

“I have no desire to break my neck, Dean.”

“Yeah, I have no desire for some damned butcher to hang me by the neck. See, our interests align.” Dean jumped up behind Castiel and grabbed Venison's reins. He'd tied Venison to Thunder and they were on their way.

The horses trotted along with a steady but brisk pace. Dean led them away from the main roads and into the leafy forests that grew some distance away from the castle.

He noticed that Castiel was shivering. He tried to hide it but Dean could feel the small trembles against his stomach and his arms as his body enveloped Castiel's. He realized that Castiel was still in his silk nightgown and robe. He reached back and unrolled a woolen cloak while guiding Tantrum with his knees.

Casually, he put the cloak around Castiel's shivering form.

“Thank you.”

“No bother. I was the one that dragged you out of bed. It's the least I can do.” Dean sighed quietly for himself. “Look, Cas. I'm... I'm sorry.”

“For borrowing me? Well, me too, Dean.”

Dean chuckled slightly. “Not that part.” He was sorry for other things and his mind turned to matters that were yet to come. He chastised himself. No use in thinking about tomorrow's sorrows when today was bleak enough. “I didn't mean it, alright. You're not just a lay to me, Cas. You know that.”

“I thought I did. Does this mean that you'll explain what you're doing, Dean? You have promised my safe return, so I assume you're not out to kill me?”

Anger flashed through Dean for a brief second but then he remembered that Castiel had every right to be mad or think that his life was in danger. “I'm not going to kill you.”

Castiel seemed satisfied by that.

Dean guided the horses through the thick foliage and turned south. They were once again on a path, albeit a less traveled one.

“You're going by the roads again?”

It was a small comfort that Castiel seemed so calm, that his voice still held kindness. It made it easier for Dean to pretend he hadn't kidnapped him. “Not the main one, no. This one will lead to a farm village down south and then we're going to cross into Juna.”

“Juna? That's your plan? You're going to hide the king of Oakspear in the actual realm? Not cross the border but plant us straight into a large city? You do realize that Juna is the largest city in the kingdom, that their soldiers – “

“ – are the finest ever, their armor shines in the sun, and they shit gold. Yeah, I know. I also know that Juna provides a huge bulk of the grain supply to Oakspear, that the royal palace once stood there and that supposedly magic is in the soil there. That's what the War of Nothingness was about, whether magic was real or not.”

“You did listen.”

Dean scoffed. “Not my fault that your post-fucking talk was all history, economics, and things I'm sure even Osric would be impressed you have knowledge about. And Juna may be the largest city in the kingdom, but that's where we're going anyway.”

Tantrum whinnied and Dean patted her reassuringly. “It's gonna be a long night. I won't bore you with talk any longer. You'll be fine, Cas.”

Castiel fidgeted against Dean, so Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel's waist, keeping him still. Tantrum was well-trained and could be directed just by a slight press of the knees anyway.

“Don't you think me showing up in my very regal robe will mark me as, I don't know, _royalty_ maybe?”

Dean nodded, despite Castiel not being able to see him. “I do. But we'll take care of that before we reach Juna. Relax, Cas.”

“Relax you say. You still haven't told me why you're doing this, Dean.”

Gritting his teeth, Dean sighed. “I know you're stubborn Cas, and you'll try, that's what honor compels you to do. But I won't talk. You know what you need to know.”

“I know nothing!”

“Exactly. Now keep your damn voice down.”

To his credit, Castiel did listen. Soon the only sounds to be heard were the night birds, evening frogs, and crickets puncturing the otherwise still night with their song. Tantrum and Venison trotted along on silent hooves and even Castiel stopped talking.

A heavy weight settled against Dean's chest and he realized that Castiel had fallen asleep. He adjusted him slightly, pulled the robe around him tighter, and continued riding.

Dean Winchester – notorious thief and Castiel Angelus – king of Oakspear rode on as the darkness kept them safe.

**Author's Note:**

> The names of the horses, Tantrum and Venison are historically accurate. I found a studbook from the 17th century with a list of names. These two called to me as a very Dean thing to name his horses. ; )


End file.
